Coup de Grâce
by cheertennis12
Summary: Coup de grâce: an action or event that finally ends or destroys something that has been getting weaker or worse / A third companion one-shot to LucySpencer's "Those Graces", the events of her most recent chapter from Amanda's POV (I made the devil cry, just saying)
1. The Noise of this Place

**HI GUYS. I'm still alive, I promise. I know it's been forever since Waiting and Remission were updated, but I've been so busy, and I'm getting ready to go to Africa for four months, and you know, crazy stuff :) Anyways, I couldn't get this out of my head after reading Lucy's last two chapters of Those Graces, so here you go. This is based on her two most recent chapters, another good ol' fanfic-of-a-fanfic, SO if you've never read Lucy's fic, you should go do that now.**

 **But quick summary, this takes place right around the time of Jersey Breakdown/Betrayal's Climax. Nick is still living with Olivia, Amanda and Nick have a thing, Nick decides to "get his life together" and get back with his wife and Liv gets a little vindictive and decides to rat him out to Amanda.**

 **All lyrics from "Believe" by Mumford and Sons**

* * *

 _{You may call it in this evening  
But you've only lost the night}_

You knew it wouldn't remain a secret for too long. There was always risk involved, the inherent jeopardy you threw yourselves and your reputation into when you chose to succumb to whim and ignore your better judgment.

It was always a Bad Idea; you just clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it _didn't_ have to be. Your life is a total, absolute, full-throttle mess right now. But this time, you _weren't_ doing anything wrong, aside from the greater Wrong that tugged at your conscience whenever you and Nick had to strategically plan to clock out one at a time so as not to raise suspicion that you were involved in any after-work dalliances, or when he had to head back to Olivia's at night instead of staying over so she wouldn't catch on that he typically spent spent two nights a week in another woman's bed.

You were careful, _always_ careful, even to the point of being silly at times. Nick, on the other hand, was a different story. For spending all those years undercover, he was shit when it came to being discreet. You should have known, though, that if he couldn't keep his mouth shut about Olivia's relationship drama that he certainly wouldn't be tight-lipped about your own.

Being alone with Olivia always made you a bit uneasy now, like you were holding your breath and just waiting for her to drop The Bomb that she had you and Nick both figured out and you were in Big Trouble. And of course, you knew it was only _you_ that would be in trouble, because that's just the way it worked with her as the boss and Nick as her sleepover buddy.

"I know you were on call last weekend, but I'm gonna need you to do it again for this coming one."

She presents it as if she's expecting a fight, but it doesn't phase in the least. The money was good, especially in light of your waning but still present gambling debts, and Nick had mentioned to you last night that he was taking a trip down to DC to see Zara, so it's not like you had any pressing plans for Olivia to derail with her request. Still, you want to slide in a bit of advocacy here, to subtly make your case to Benson that Nick was ready to be back in action and not chained to a desk. You saw him shrinking smaller and smaller as the days drug on, when you and Fin and Liv would run out on a case and leave him behind looking like a wounded puppy. Whether you believed he was ready or not, you wanted this for _him._

"No problem, Sarge. I figured, with Nick still on desk duty and all."

"I'm not sure if he'll be cleared by IAB before then—but anyway, it doesn't matter because I already told him he could leave early Friday. He wants to go down to DC and meet up with Maria."

 _Maria._

Not Zara.

His ex-wife. His _still_ -wife if you want to get technical. You try to hide your confusion (blatant shock, really) because for as much shit as you'd heard him talk about your foil, you were taken aback at the notion that he would be travelling down for any intentional interaction with the woman who had broken his heart and screwed him one too many times.

"Ooh… okay."

Maybe you misunderstood. Maybe it was a custody conference, some sit-down, hash-it-out-rearrangement of Zara's schedule that was best done face to face.

Or maybe… Maybe you two need to talk.

 _{I had the strangest feeling  
Your world's not all it seems  
So tired of misconceiving  
What else this could've been}_

"So um… You're still going to DC this weekend?"

"Yeah… yeah. Zara, she wants to go to the zoo again. _Again."_ He laughs and shakes his head as your thumb traces lazy circles in the condensation on your glass. Was he really… or was he…?

"Nick…" You throw an elbow onto the counter and use it to prop up your head. Screw your carefully constructed segue into this conversation, the one you'd etched into your brain last night as you laid awake staring at the ceiling. These conversations never went according to plan, and there was no use beating around the bush. "What's going on with you and Maria?"

You narrow your eyes, trying to convey that no, you're not playing around, but remaining open to the notion that this _could_ still be a misunderstanding.

"What? I don't… What?" You can't deny it. His expression was the same as that of a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. And that meant…

Your heart drops.

"Yeah, um. Okay, I didn't have a chance to talk to you yet, but Maria and I—"

"What the hell, Nick?!" Your outburst surprises yourself as much as it does the spectators in the bar who turn to watch the scene unfold. You don't let him finish, but what's the point? His reaction said it all. "So you are. And you, you can tell _Liv_ that you're going back to your wife? But you can't tell me?! What was your fucking plan here? Meet me tonight, have a few beers, come back to my place and get off, and then what? Go back to your little sleepover with Olivia and pretend like nothing happened? And _then_ go spend the weekend screwing your wife?"

You throw your glass back, letting the liquid singe your throat, and then you waste no time signaling the bartender for another round. You're just getting started.

"Is that all this is? I was just some temporary fix for your perpetual hard-on? Screw you, Nick Amaro." You stand to your feet and puff out your chest, because _no._ You are _not_ going to be the fool here. Not now, not after everything you've just been through with Nate, when he caught you off guard and he played you so well and you were too blind to see it. Not again.

"No… No! Amanda, come on. It's not like that, it's not…" He scrambles, and for a second, the fear in his eyes _almost_ makes you believe him. You _want_ to believe him, that you meant more to him than this piece of shit you felt like right now.

He used you, and you only wish you could be surprised.

"Y'know what? Save the excuses for your _wife._ I'm sure it's going to take a lot of ass kissing to get yourself out of the doghouse there. I really hope it it works out for ya. You two deserve each other."

You slap a twenty down on the counter and storm out before the hot tears begin to stream down your face. He is _not_ going to get the satisfaction of watching you fall apart.

 _{Well I don't even know if I believe  
I don't even know if I want to believe  
Anything you're trying to say to me}_

The next few days are one incessant fog. You've caught another high-profile case involving BX9 in addition to uncovering the corruption in New Jersey's legal system, and any one of those cases would be enough to require round-the-clock manpower, let alone your luck in acquiring them simultaneously.

In some ways, you were thankful. Some kind of shit had gone down over at Casa Cassidy, and Nick had skedaddled to DC a few days earlier than expected. It was good to keep your mind on the case, instead of being preoccupied with what was going down in DC between him and Maria. And having him gone certainly eased the tension in the squadroom, and made it a much happier place without him to butt in and whine about desk duty every ten seconds.

Still, you worried about Olivia. You hated her guts, even more so by default now that you knew she was privy to your private life. But something was off with her. You'd noticed it before, but never had it been more evident than the morning you'd met her at the hospital to take Avery's statement.

Of course, you were one to talk about looking like shit. You were running on fumes, a triple shot espresso, and about two hours of sleep, choosing to use your eight glorious hours of nighttime reprieve for a high at the casino instead of at home in bed. Your bed wasn't the safe place it used to be. First Nate, then Nick, and now it just reminded you of that part of your life that had fallen to pieces. But for as bad as you knew you looked, Olivia looked a thousand times worse. Bad enough even for _you_ to break your self-imposed moratorium on unnecessary small talk with your boss and make sure she was alright.

"Never been better…" She mutters, powering through the doorway of Avery's room without so much as a knock. You roll your eyes as soon as her back is turned and spin on your heels to follow her inside. Much to your surprise, she lets you take the lead. In fact, she all but _begs_ you to take control, and you can't help but steal glances in her direction as Avery blubbers through her heartbreaking statement.

Avery isn't the one you're worried about, though. Sure, you express a reasonable amount of professional concern, but each glimpse at Olivia's face is what truly fills you with fear. She's frozen in dissociation, as far as you can tell. Her face is long and her eyes glassy, and your attention is divided as you nod appropriately throughout Avery's statement all while figuring the quickest and safest way to get you and Olivia removed from the situation. You may hate her guts, but she's a sister in blue, and you know what it's like to have a situation hit a little too close to home.

You have her back, not because of who she is or anything she's done, but because that's just what you have to do.

 _{This is never gonna go our way  
If I'm gonna have to guess what's on your mind}_

"Liv…."

When you finally can extricate yourselves from Avery's room., it's afternoon shift change. The hospital is bustling as always, but for some unexpected reason, the corridor between you and the elevator is empty. Olivia takes off with purpose toward the elevator, and you're nearly jogging to keep in step with her. The fact that the two of you are alone is both a nuanced blessing and a curse of discomfort, but you feel the need to say _something,_ even if you know your words are trivial at best.

It's tough. You've been there, you know, although you're sure she has no idea of the common denominator between you two. The first few cases back after your assault had been brutal, and even now, nearly three years after the fact, there were still times where a case would strike a nerve and send you reeling.

She didn't hear you the first time, so you try again. _"Liv…"_

She doesn't stop, doesn't acknowledge you. You're not so sure she can hear you over the noise of her own thoughts, so you stretch out an arm and let your fingers brush against her shoulder to grab her attention.

She jumps so harshly that it almost pains you to know that you caused such a startle, and you fumble for an apology. "Jesus, Liv, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"I need you to stay with her while I go back to the office." She says in an eerie monotone that you recognize all too well. It's heartbreaking, and you've been there and sure, you'll do it. In fact, your filled with so much empathy at this point, regardless of your history, if she told you to jump off a bridge, you'd be on the next plan down south to the Tallulah Gorge.

"Of course, I've got it— _Liv._ " You repeat her name a little more insistently, because at this point, whether she realizes it or not, you _don't_ feel like she's in any shape to venture off alone. "You sure you're alright?"

She turns to look at you this time. Here it comes, the _I'm fine_ , _leavemealone_ , _shut up Rollins._ She opens her mouth, and you brace yourself for the onslaught, but you see her eyes focus on something behind you and her expression go slack.

You turn around to see what the fuss is about, half expecting to see William Lewis himself being paraded through the halls of the hospital, orange jumpsuit and all. But there's nothing there, not a soul, and you can't figure out what the hell has triggered this visceral reaction. It _scares_ you.

"Liv, do you want to sit down for a second, or—?"

" _NO_. Amanda, just… go. _Now."_ She snaps, but before you can decide how strongly to resist, she's the one bolting in the other direction .

"Hey, maybe I should call…?" You call after her, although she's so far gone by this point you're almost sure she didn't hear you—and if she did, she's certainly not going to give you the satisfaction of an answer. Maybe you _should_ call someone. Fin, maybe? Or her therapist, Dr… Lind-something? You're sure you could find him in the phonebook if you tried. Hell, maybe you'd get lucky and Cragen would have phone service somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. He always knew just what to do with her.

 _{So open up my eyes  
Tell me I'm alive}_

You proceed cautiously. You know it'll be nothing but a fight if she sees you, and you really do need to get back to Avery, but you can't in good conscience just leave without ascertaining that your sergeant is, at the very least, safe.

There's a waiting room two departments over, on a floor with open visiting hours so you know it was rarely occupied. If _you_ needed a quick escape, it'd be your first choice. You tiptoe as quietly as you can, cursing yourself for wearing those boots that always seem to squeak at the most inopportune times, but oh well, too late to reconsider your wardrobe at this point.

You hear it first, the sniffles coupled with sobs, and there's no mistaking where it's coming from. Or rather, _who_ it's coming from.

And it breaks your heart there's nothing. you. can. do. And even if you _could_ somehow ease her pain _,_ you know you're the last person trusted to do it, and suddenly your entirely relationship is filled with regret. If you _hadn't_ been screwing her partner, if you hadn't snapped at her that evening in the squadroom during Nate's case, hell, if you hadn't taken Frannie to the park that Sunday morning, maybe things would be different, and maybe just maybe you'd have the privilege to speak the comfort you so desperately want to right now.

But you can't. You shouldn't.

With all the reluctance in the world, you let out a sigh, and do the only thing you can: you head back towards Avery's hospital room.

 _{Say something, say something,  
Something like you love me  
Less you wanna move away  
From the noise of this place}_


	2. Heart Full of Holes

**Y'all know the drill here, and I made this a continuation of the previous one-shot because it fits well and also because I'm running out of phrases with the word "grace" in the title so there.**

 **This is a little companion fic to Chapter 46 of lucyspencer's "Those Graces". It picks up right after the first chapter of this fic, and runs concurrently with Lucy's chapter... although I think this also works well as a standalone if you have not been keeping up with "Those Grace".**

 **Quotes and title are entirely out of context from the meaning of the song, whoops, but they're taken from "How Emptiness Sings" by Christa Wells.**

* * *

 _{Sister carries her loneliness  
_ _In a hidden hollow inside her chest  
_ _And sometimes all that she wants is an end  
_ _To the long, long night}_

"Hey lady, either you're playin' or you're gonna need to get your ass outta my chair." His voice is a sharp jolt of electricity to your wandering mind, and your attention immediately snaps back to the present. You look up to see an unamused dealer tapping his fingers against the felted table and staring you down, and you immediately mumble a halfhearted apology.

A quick glance at the spread in front of you refreshes your memory of your current predicament. A two of spades and a seven of diamonds rest in plain sight. You tug your lip between your teeth… _two and seven, plus a four facedown on the table…_

Glancing across to the other side, you take notice of the dealer's own hand. His face is smug, but you've learned never to rely on that; they call it poker face for a damn good reason. But the _detective face_ is your own secret weapon, and a quick mental recalculation boosts your confidence. You puff out your chest a bit, and a sly grin spreads across your face. The adrenaline is almost enough to make you giddy. _This_ is what you lived for nowadays, the moment you punched the clock, ran home just long enough to walk Frannie and slip into something to turn the right heads, and set out into the night.

On the weekends, your routine was sometimes a little more elaborate, a marathon gallivant down to the neon lights of Atlantic City. The long hours of your job, however, necessitated something a little more low-key when you needed a weekday fix. You weren't brazen enough to show your face in any establishment where a familiar face could stumble upon your relapse, so you stuck to a new and intriguing circle: an undercover ring you'd finally been deemed worthy enough to become privy to. It was an adventure, a twisted accomplishment to finally become inducted into such an elite society of misfits like yourself.

 _A two, and a seven, and a four._ The man glaring at you from across the table boasts a sum of seventeen. You know the odds are in your favor here, but for a girl who was in this deep, you sure wished you'd paid better attention in high school statistics.

"Hit me."

He slides a card across the table and your heart drops as your eyes land on the double digits.

 _Shit_.

You scrub a hand your across your face and collect yourself. You _shouldn't_ , you _shouldn't_ , you _shouldn't_. You should go home. You were this far in the hole, it'd been a long day, a long _week_ where your semblance of a collected life had slid deeper into the mire, and your alarm was set to go off in a mere four hours.

But this, right here, this made you feel more _alive_ than any amount of shuteye ever could. And without another hesitation, you slide the meager remains of your once-impressive pile of chips into the center of the table.

 _{And the tune resonates in the open space_ _  
_ _To show us how emptiness sings}_

Still, you couldn't get the events of the previous day out of your mind, that mental snapshot you'd never be able to erase of Olivia slumped against the vending machine, the sickening thud as her head connected with plastic over. and over. and over. again, and the sheer agony written all over her face as she drowned in silent screams. You'd only caught a glimpse, but it was enough to haunt your dreams and make your stomach churn as the memories flooded your mind the second you returned to consciousness the next morning (or maybe it was the nauseating mix of sleep deprivation and the waning effects of the alcohol you'd consumed the night before)

You slip into the squadroom, late as per the new normal. Fin barely looks up from his paperwork as he nods what you interpret as a 'good morning', and you lock your purse in the bottom drawer and plop into your seat with a sigh. Your head is _throbbing_ right now, and you're cursing yourself for not downing a couple tabs of Excedrin before stumbling into the daylight.

"Rollins, why the hell you wearing _sunglasses_ in here? I can barely see what I'm doin' in the first place, 1PP's too damn cheap to fix these burned out lightbults"

You press your lips together and reluctantly pull off your sunglasses, revealing the obvious remnants of your midnight escapades. Fin's eyes widen and he shoots you a questioning glance, but you hold up a hand to keep him from going any further. "I'm fine, Frannie just… ate something out of the trash, I don't know, she was sick all night. Thought I was going to have to take her to the emergency vet."

Fin folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. It's quite obvious he's not buying it, but he knows better than to press you for information you're obviously unwilling to give.

Much to your combined relief and dismay, Olivia chooses that very moment to come to your 'rescue' with a brusque bark of your surname.

"Yes, sergeant?"

"Rubirosa came through, we've got the forthwith order. Come on, we're going to get Claire."

"I was planning on digging into Dolan's financials this afternoon, um, what about Fin—?"

"You have a good rapport with Claire." _Yeah right._ You're sure there's some ulterior motive here, because you're certainly the last person she would enlist for a road trip to the pits of Jersey. Three hours in the car, just the two of you—this was a bona fide recipe for the disaster, because you doubted she asked you to tag along so you could hold hands across the center console and sing kumbaya.

You were _not_ in the mood, but still, you shrug halfheartedly. No amount of protest will change the fact that she _is_ your boss, and whatever the catch, you're not in a position to argue with her.

 _{I haven't been asked yet to walk the hard roads  
_ _Still there's a sense of deep loss in my soul}_

The first seventeen minutes of the drive are marked with silence—or, as silent as it can be the dull roar of rush hour outside your window. You know that, of course, because you alternate between staring at the clock on the dash and the one on your phone, praying for that time will speed up to no avail. You're not even out of Manhattan yet and this car is an icebox in more ways than one.

Liv hasn't spoken a word this entire time, and you're not quite sure if it's you or if it's her. You steal a quick glance in her direction and bite your lip… she doesn't look good. Her glassy eyes are fixed on the road, and her whitened knuckles grip the wheel like she's holding on for dear life as tiny beads of sweat pop decorate her forehead. Maybe you should… "Hey. Liv?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want me to drive? No offense, but you don't look so hot."

"If I wanted you to, I would have asked." She growls through clenched teeth and _o-o-okay then_. You let out a sigh. She's a tough one to crack, not unlike yourself, but you can't shake the nagging feeling that you need to say _something_ about what you saw yesterday, if for no other reason than to let her know that you're… here for her? It doesn't have to be eloquent, and coming from your mouth, you're sure that's not even a possibility.

"Look, I—I know that… we haven't always been the best of friends." Understatement of the year.

"Uh-huh. And?"

You wish you could backtrack, but it's too late now. But hell, you've opened this can of worms, might as well see what they can catch. "And I know that in the past, I might've said some things I shouldn't have." _I don't have to pay someone to listen to my problems._ "But… I just want you to know, if there's ever anything I can do, if you ever need someone to talk to—"

"Oh, so what, you can go running back to Nick and compare notes?." She cuts you off, but it's just as well because you weren't quite sure how to finish that thought. _'I'm here'_ sounded too generic, you sure as hell weren't going to offer up the proverbial _'I understand'_ , and if she read between the lines of _'I've been there'_ it was sure as hell bound to provoke a irate line of questioning you weren't willing to entertain. "Cause that's a really nice offer, but I'm good. I already have a shrink, remember? I don't need your 'help'."

"Liv…" As soon as the word escapes, you've got nothing. You glance down at the empty cup tucked between your thighs. "The other day…. at the hospital. I dunno, maybe I shouldn't have, but I saw you—"

"You were _following_ me?!" Her eruption makes you briefly terrified that she literally holds both of your lives in her hands right now. One swerve of the wheel and you'd both be out of your misery.

"I went looking for you," you correct, as calmly and rationally as you can manage, going as far as to channel some of the de-escalation tactics you'd picked up in the academy. "I didn't feel right about leaving you. And anyway, I found you."

"So then you did what, stood there and _stared_ at me?"

"Are you kidding? No, of course not. I went back to Avery's room—what?" You pause when you see the way she's looking you, that Look that could shoot daggers into your very soul, and it suddenly makes you immeasurably _thankful_ that she's driving. If her hands weren't on the wheel, you're semi-certain they'd be wrapped around your neck. "C'mon, I know you didn't… you weren't going to talk to me. Which is fine. I thought about calling someone else so you wouldn't be alone but I didn't—"

" _Who_ did you tell?!" She roars, stepping on the gas to propel the car forward as she swerves into the passing lane. It's more of a reaction than a necessity, and your body involuntarily stiffens against the back of your seat.

"Liv, I didn't tell anyone. And I won't, okay, if—"

"Whatever it is you _thought_ you saw, you're taking things out of context. So before you call Nick—"

 _Nick_. His name sounds like a punch in the gut. In fact, it's the way she uses it, almost like she's proud of the maelstrom she has created between the two of you, and you can't stand to hear her use him against you like you know she's aiming to do. She _doesn't_ get to do that to you. "I told you, I haven't. This can stay between us if—" _you promise me that you're okay and you're getting help. Because Liv, I might hate your guts right now, but I'm not a terrible enough person to air out your dirty laundry. Because trust me, I get it._

She doesn't let you finish.

"Oh christ…" She carries on. "C'mon, like you're not going to use it as a bribe to get another story out of him about me fucking Elliot? And don't say you have no idea what I'm talking about, because I heard you asking Nick. I'm sure you think that's just fucking hilarious, right?"

No, in fact. You don't. While you do think that your sergeant's personal life is a gold mine for office gossip, and sometimes your own moral compass is a little bit uncalibrated, even you have enough decency to not swap your knowledge of that intimate scene of Olivia's personal breakdown for more ammunition against her.

"He didn't rape me." She comes out in a haunting monotone, taking you by surprise. You're not quite sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't that bold of a defense. The stress of the trial, the frustration of concurrent case, the cautious rebuilding you'd watched Olivia struggle through step by step… Any of the above would have satisfied you as a logical explanation for her uncharacteristic display of pent-up emotion for the day before. But not… that.

The words were laced with eerie familiarity, the same ones you'd spent weeks upon weeks chanting as you sobbed yourself to sleep in the quiet of the night all those years ago. He. Didn't. Rape. Me. He didn't

"Oh. Okay…" You nod apprehensively. Everything about this conversation makes you feel like the walls are closing in on you, and you just want out. Out of this discussion, out of this car, out of this out-of-control self-loathing mess you'd once again become.

"He didn't."

"It's okay. I believe you." You want to believe her in the same way you want to believe yourself. He didn't rape you. It was an opportunistic nightmare, but one of your own accord: You'd made a series of shitty decisions, it backfired, and you were left with the repercussions. That was on you, no question, but Liv… with Lewis, it was different. There was no question she was blameless here, unlike yourself, but with every fierce denial came a piece of the deeper revelation behind it.

"You know why he didn't? Because he was afraid of me. I scared him shitless." You nod, hands clenched firmly by your side. "All of those women that he did rape? It's because they were weak. Easy targets. They couldn't protect themselves, but I could, and he didn't know what the hell to do with someone who actually fought back."

Then there was you. You pathetic joke of existence, you fucking screw up. You'd let yourself wind up here; you'd walked right into it. Years of sports and physical training growing up, a college degree from an insanely tough institution, some of the best training the country could offer at the police academy and you'd still failed when it came to self-protection in any way, shape or form. You'd let him get into your head, convince you that this was a business deal and nothing more, and when your common sense finally took hold, you'd been so deep in that you couldn't fight him off. You didn't even try.

Your mind is frozen in reply mode of the worst moment of your life and you just can't… it won't. It won't stop. And suddenly, you realize more than you ever thought you could just how Olivia felt in that moment twenty-four hours ago, when the world felt to be crashing down around here and she felt like exploding form the inside out. Because it's exactly how you feel now, but you're trapped, and if it wasn't for the effort it would take to command your muscles to just fucking move, you'd be throwing the door open and tumbling out onto the highway and you didn't even care.

But you can't, so you don't, and you pray she's too caught up in herself to notice the tears streaming down behind your sunglasses.

 _{And how can a man just keep walking around_ _  
_ _With his heart full of holes_ _}_

A seven and a six and a two—you're back here again, only "here" is Atlantic City tonight. You don't care that you sounded sketchy as hell when you pulled some excuse about "visiting a friend" out of your ass; you were not getting back in that car with Olivia. You'd counted on Claire being the buffer in the backseat, but after the doctors insisted upon keeping her overnight to monitor her dehydrated, overmedicated state, you knew you had come up with a plan B. Hell, you would have walked if you had to, anything to avoid another three hours in that car. You just couldn't do it.

Praise be to public transportation, because an arm and a leg later, you're across the state and finally able to breathe again within the walls of familiarity. You rest an elbow on the table and use it to prop your head, inhaling deeply from a cigarette you'd bummed off of the guy next to you. This… this was good, this is what you needed after today, even though it hadn't even been 24 hours since your last fix, but whofuckingcares, this is your catharsis.

 _"Seven, six, two_ …" you press your lips together, biting on the inside of your cheek.

 _«_ _It's because they were weak. Easy targets._ _»_

 _Seven, plus…_

 _«He didn't. He didn't rape me»_

 _… Six plus two is…_

 _«Darlin' you know by now I don't take no for an answer. No, you're not goin' anywhere. You're gonna lay here nice and quiet and spread those pretty legs and give me what you promised»_

 _Fifteen…. And he's got a ten and a five already, and whatever is under there…_ The adrenaline is enough to make you shake, and you're a jumbled mess of fear and fury and total exhaustion, but you feel ALIVE; this makes you feel alive, like you're running so fast, so far that nothing in this world can touch you.

 _«You think anyone will believe you? Of course not»_

"Hit me."

 _{I'm beginning to learn where to find the words_ _  
_ _To the song that emptiness sings_ _}_


End file.
